Zak Ford

Last week’s Southern California ballpark road trip: seven ballparks and six games in four days

GENE TENACE: "I looked down at the hotel, and the manager was standing out there in the front. I go, 'Oh God, we're dead. We're gonna get nailed here.' The guys said, 'Well, what are we gonna do?' I said, 'He knows we're out after curfew 'cause we're not in our rooms. We might as well just bite the bullet, take the consequences, and deal with it.'

The three of us walked down to him and he was very upset. He told the other two guys to get to their room and he’d deal with them later. Then, he told me, 'You get up to my room.' I'm going, 'Oh God Almighty.' I get to his room, and he says, 'I'll fix you a drink.' I said, 'Well, I don't drink hard liquor. I drink a beer.' He said, 'Pour yourself a scotch. I've got to make a phone call.' I said, 'Okay.' I figured if the manager says to pour yourself a scotch, you pour yourself a scotch even if you don't drink scotch.

I pour myself a little bit in a glass and he's on the phone. I couldn't tell who he was talking to. It was like 1:30 in the morning. He’s saying, 'Yes, no, yes, yes.' I’m thinking, 'What’s going on here?' Then I hear him say, 'Yeah, he’s here. I’ve got him.' I thought, 'Oh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.'

He gets off the phone and says to me, 'Drink that stinkin' scotch. You're gonna need that scotch.' I said, 'What are you talkin' about?' He says, 'In about 30 minutes, you're heading back to Birmingham, and then you're gonna catch a flight to Oakland. You’re catching Catfish Hunter Thursday.'"

⚾️📖 Gene Tenace, Oakland A's, 1969 - Excerpt from his full MLB call-up and debut story in the "Called Up" book

Today’s my 11th annual “Red Adams Jersey” game at Dodger Stadium in honor of my late friend. The story of our unique friendship, and the tradition I began after his passing, is below. Someday I’ll write the longer story. In the meantime, I hope people will enjoy and share this to help keep his memory alive.

⚾️ “It’s a Red Adams Jersey, not a Dodgers Jersey” ⚾️

Dodger Stadium is a special place for me. While this statement isn’t unique, I feel conflicted making it as a Giants fan.

I have a divided extended family. My grandma had pumped blue blood since listening to Vin Scully call Dodger games from Brooklyn. For some reason, my dad chose the Giants, and his preference was passed down to me.

My conflict grew deeper as a teenager when I befriended Red Adams. Adams was a “baseball lifer” whose career included 33 years with the Dodgers in numerous scouting and coaching roles. He spent 12 seasons as the team’s pitching coach, 1969-1980, when the Dodgers won three pennants and six team ERA titles. I found his baseball résumé very impressive. However, I found who he was as a man even more impressive.

I met Adams through my great-uncle, Larry Powell. Larry and Red were teammates with the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League in 1947 and 1948 and kept in touch. Since I loved baseball and lived relatively close to Red, Larry suggested I reach out to him. Red was always very accommodating. We talked on the phone occasionally, regularly traded letters, and I was a guest at his home multiple times. We often joked about our preferred teams. Early conversations focused on baseball, but as I got older, they evolved into more important life topics.

For nearly a decade, while I began my career and started my family, we lost regular contact. We spoke by phone in mid-2015, and that fall his birthday card was returned. I attempted a call in early September of 2016, but his number was disconnected.

Shortly after, on the evening of Friday, September 23, 2016, I watched Vin Scully Weekend festivities begin at Dodger Stadium while at my house in Northern California. I was overcome with emotions thinking of my late grandma’s love for the Dodgers, and Red’s deep ties to the team. That night I decided to make the journey to Dodger Stadium for Scully’s last two games in Los Angeles. For some reason, I brought one of my most prized possessions – Red’s 1980 game-used home jersey.

I arrived at Dodger Stadium and was quickly caught up in my surroundings. For the first time in my life, I put on Dodgers apparel. However, I told myself it wasn’t as much of a Dodgers jersey as it was a Red Adams jersey. I also figured it was a fitting way to retire the jersey and say goodbye to Red, as I never expected to see him again.

Being at Dodger Stadium for Scully’s last two home games will always remain among my top baseball memories. The appreciation for one of baseball’s all-time greatest ambassadors superseded any team affiliation that weekend. I could feel the presence of baseball gods when Scully’s final call before the home crowd was a walk-off homer in the 10th inning by Charlie Culberson. The ball landed in the Dodgers bullpen, where Red spent much of his time. Despite the homer clinching the National League West, I could instantly appreciate the moment. When Scully took the microphone and said goodbye to the Dodger Stadium crowd, I cried.

Upon returning from that nostalgic and emotional Dodger Stadium trip, I decided I’d attempt to track Red down, despite how unlikely my success would be. After a few days of online searches and calls, I connected with his oldest daughter, who informed me he was in an assisted-living and memory care home in Fresno.

I am thankful that in the last three months of his life, we enjoyed four visits. Despite not remembering many details of his baseball career, Red was the same man. He hadn't lost his sense of humor nor his welcoming nature and ability to lift everyone around him up with his encouraging personality. I was able to thank him for the positive impact he had on my life and even introduce him to my wife and kids. During those visits, we didn't talk much about his experiences in baseball. That was no longer important. We talked about what was important to him at his core as a man.

After his passing in early 2017, I decided that wearing a Red Adams jersey at Dodger Stadium would become an annual tradition. I call it my annual “It’s a Red Adams Jersey, Not a Dodgers Jersey” game. Crediting my year as a cutout in 2020, I haven’t missed a season.

While I haven’t experienced anything quite as magical as that first 2016 trip, each visit creates another special memory of Dodger Stadium. More importantly, each visit rekindles old memories of Red.

I’m on a “baseball road trip” in Southern California. Today, I decided to do a non-baseball activity before heading to tonight’s Padres game. Here’s both before, and after, I realized it was fun.

JEFF REBOULET: "The next pitch, he threw me another curveball. He bounced it, and I think it barely caught dirt in front of the Minnesota turf. It was probably a 55-footer. It didn't even make it close to the plate. Of course, I swung again. It was so bad that it bounced over Tony Pena's head. I struck out, but ran to first and made it to first base on a punch out.

Our first base coach's name was Wayne Terwilliger. He was a much older guy, but a super positive, awesome guy, and a great coach. I get to first base and he's excited. He's going, 'Man, that was great.' I'm going, 'Twig, I struck out.' He goes, 'Reb, anybody can get a hit or even a home run in their first at-bat. I guarantee you in the history of the game, nobody's ever gotten on first after a strikeout.' The first baseman looks at me like, 'He's probably right.'

I was embarrassed more than anything that I swung at a pitch like that. I didn't strikeout a whole lot. I was clearly very nervous."

⚾️📖 Jeff Reboulet, Minnesota Twins, 1992 - Excerpt from his MLB call-up and debut story in the "Called Up" book

⚾️📖 “BEYOND THE LAST INNING” IS AVAILABLE FOR PREORDERS AND SHOULD BE OUT BY JUNE! 📖⚾️

For former professional ballplayers, career transitions aren't as simple as switching jobs. Imagine excelling at something since you were a child, having it become your job, and reaching great professional heights as a young adult - then, often within just a few years, having to accept everything you've worked toward is over, and likely not on your terms. What follows is not just the challenge of finding a new profession but of forging a new identity. Through 49 first-person stories of major and minor leaguers, this book gives readers a greater understanding of what ballplayers face when they hang up their spikes.

Following his playing career, Sam McDowell spent a short time in the real estate and insurance industries. McDowell's struggle with alcoholism is well known within the baseball community. Once he achieved sobriety, he worked many years as a counselor and helped many baseball players through his work with Major League Baseball’s Baseball Assistance Team (B.A.T.).

McDowell played 16 seasons of affiliated baseball, including 15 in the major leagues. His last year playing in affiliated baseball was 1975.

I'm pleased he's featured in both of my books. Below is an excerpt from his "Beyond the Last Inning" story.

⚾️

"I’ve been able to help an awful amount of people and be at peace with myself, which I’m not sure I could have experienced if I didn’t go through addiction and recovery. Because of my alcoholic personality, I never came close to enjoying baseball like a normal baseball player would. I could say unequivocally that I was in a depressed state my entire baseball career. I was never at peace. However, I don’t regret anything. I wouldn’t have been able to help people like I did for over 40 years after playing if it didn’t happen the way it did."

Following his playing career, Mark Acre entered real estate before eventually pursuing high level corporate sales jobs. At the time of his interview for the “Beyond the Last Inning” book, he was working and living in Arizona.

He played seven seasons of affiliated baseball, including four seasons in the major leagues. His last year playing in affiliated baseball was 1997.

An except from his “Beyond” story is below.

⚾️📖

"Before getting acclimated to the corporate world, I wanted to walk out and quit a hundred times. I was like, 'This isn’t for me. I can’t do it. I’m uncomfortable.' I could talk in front of people all the time. However, when I had to talk about IT training, Security+ training, implementation, and all that type of stuff, it was challenging, but I made it work.

Obviously, we all love baseball, but it’s important to do something outside of your comfort zone. You can’t be afraid to take risks. That’s what we did on the diamond every day. We took risks with pitches. We took risks with changing positions. You can’t always play it safe. People can’t be afraid of change. If you get fired, laid off, or something happens where you’re leaving a job, embrace it. You never know the reason it happened until it unveils itself later.

Baseball teaches the ability to adapt. I can adapt to any situation, any role on a team, or any account. I think we as baseball players and athletes have the ability to do that. You could be relieving one year and then starting the next. You could play a different position or hit in a different position in the lineup. You must adapt, have the team in mind, and want to win collectively."

Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of catching up with Jose Ortiz, one of the players featured in my “Called Up” book. He’s the new hitting coach for the Stockton Ports of the California League. Ortiz was the Pacific Coast League’s MVP during the Sacramento River Cats’ inaugural season (2000), and earned his first call-up that September with the A’s. While he had a short MLB career, he had many solid seasons in Japan.

On this date, 11 years ago, I finally took my uncle to Fenway Park… Sort of…

My great-uncle, Larry Powell, played professional baseball from 1937-54. At one time, he was considered a top prospect. From 1939-46, he was property of the Boston Red Sox. He attended spring training with the Red Sox in 1941, but failed to make the team and was sent back to the minors. Drafted into WWII shortly after, his baseball career was put on hold until spring training of 1946. Although he made the team out of camp, the Red Sox got off to a hot start and the services of a pitcher who had been out of baseball for nearly five years, especially one with no prior big league experience, were not needed. After two weeks on the bench, he was released without appearing in a game. The next day he signed with the crosstown Boston Braves. That experience also ended without an appearance a week later. He never returned to the major leagues.

As a boy, I dreamed that one day I would take him to a game at Fenway Park. The dream was very naive. He was 64 years older than me. By the time I was in a situation to even think of such a trip, he was an old man, in his nineties, struggling to make regular journeys to the restroom. A journey cross country, especially one primarily to see a baseball game, was impossible.

Larry was bedridden for the last 21 months of his life. The sight of him in this condition was horrible. His mind was at 100%, but his body had given up on him. Despite this, every time I entered his room, I’d proclaim, “Let’s get out of here and go to a ballgame!” The smile that appeared on his face at that moment was always the highlight of those last visits.

On April 17, 2015, I finally made it to Fenway Park. I carried a photo of him in my left chest pocket, and felt his presence.

If Jerry Reuss, the longest tenured player in the “Called Up” book, enjoyed it, I’m sure you will too.

I received this email from Reuss shortly after the book came out. Receiving the email from any player in the book would have been nice. Receiving it from a 22-year MLB veteran was especially nice.